Phil and Claud went off in surly silence, and Mr. Merryweather turned to Jack Ferrers, who had remained an amused but somewhat embarrassed spectator of the scene.
"Puppy play, Jack!" he said, quietly. "You have seen plenty of it in Germany. One puppy is a puppy, more's the pity, and the other has red hair. Well! well! I did hope this could have been avoided; but we must not let it go any further. I wish Roger were here. I wonder if you can help me out, Jack."
"I'll do my best, sir!" said Jack, heartily.
"You see, I must go off; I ought to be at the village landing this moment, to see about that freight that is coming. Do you think you can keep the peace till I come back?"
"I think I can," said Jack. "I'll make a good try for it, anyhow, Mr. Merryweather."
"That's a good lad!" said the Chief. "You could knock both their heads together, if you put your mind—and your biceps—to it; but I hope that will not be necessary. In any case, don't let them fight! I promised his mother."
He nodded, and, settling himself in a boat, departed with long, powerful strokes.
Jack, left alone, shook his curly head, and felt of his arms.
"Ah'm fit!" he said, quoting another and a bigger Jock than himself. "But it's a pity. That fellow is not only a puppy, he is a cur. I never saw anybody who needed a thrashing more." And he went and coiled himself in a hammock, and prepared to keep watch.
An hour later Mr. Claud Belleville, once more dry, if somewhat shorn of his glory, reappeared upon the scene. As he came out of his tent, Gerald strolled carelessly out of the boat-house, his hands in his pockets.